In the Bengali region, communalism generally refers to the mutual conflict and antagonism between Hindus and Muslims. This is also what Nazrul primarily understood by the term. He worked during a time when this crisis was at its most intense. The expression of a shared Hindu-Muslim cultural heritage in his writings is unparalleled in Bengali literature, either before or since. For good reason, Nazrul is regarded as the principal symbol of secular consciousness in this region.

This article shows that while Nazrul indeed elevated secular practice to a lofty height in both his life and literature, his interpretations and analyses on the matter were not particularly profound. His aspiration for Hindu-Muslim unity belonged to a nationalist tradition, in which the call for joint efforts between the two communities was made in the interest of the nation or state. Thus, this unity remained primarily a well-meaning hope. He did not offer a structural analysis of community and communalism, nor did he explore the historical roots of the problem. For this reason, Nazrul’s writings offer us very little help in understanding or analysing the communal crisis presently facing Bangladesh.

The issue of communal identity in the Indian subcontinent is very old. This crisis existed in the Hindu-Buddhist era, but it intensified during the period of Hindu-Muslim rule. Given the multitude of diverse ethnic groups in this region, the idea of ‘community’ and the accompanying communal crisis are both extremely complex and multifaceted. There are caste and class problems, as well as many forms and levels of conflict between Aryan and non-Aryan groups, alongside tensions between linguistic and ethnic communities.

Yet, in the context of the last hundred years of experience, the communal problem in this region has come to mean primarily the Hindu-Muslim issue. This all-encompassing notion and mindset is deeply damaging. On one hand, it narrows our view of a vast and complex problem; on the other, it prevents us from properly understanding the nature of Hindu-Muslim conflict itself. This is because the historical context in which the problem was named and its primary causes were determined no longer exists. And yet, the problem persists—albeit in a different form.

This is what may be termed a problem of terminology. The terminology was shaped by a certain reality. That reality, while not entirely gone, has changed significantly. However, the same terminology is still being used to interpret a transformed reality.

The communal situation in the Bengali region prior to the second Partition of Bengal in 1947 can, for the most part, be explained in terms of Hindu-Muslim relations and antagonisms. That is because this conflict had taken on an especially destructive form during that time. The years 1926 to 1946 marked a period of intense communal riots in this region. The second Partition of Bengal in 1947 was also largely driven—explicitly so—by Hindu-Muslim divisions.

Before that, during the period of joint participation in the Non-Cooperation and Khilafat movements, sections of the Hindu and Muslim populations had come together politically. These two events—brief unity and then devastating separation—occurred during the most active phase of Nazrul’s life. It is therefore no coincidence that Nazrul’s writings are deeply infused with values of communal harmony and secularism, while at the same time voicing the strongest warnings against communal strife.

From the perspective of portraying a shared Hindu-Muslim culture and expressing a consistently secular consciousness, Nazrul’s literary oeuvre stands as one of the most significant developments in modern Bengali literature. To fully grasp the historical significance of this achievement, one must examine the broader history of modern Bengali literature.

Over several centuries of cooperative spiritual effort in the medieval period, Bengali literature had evolved a tradition that represented both Hindu and Muslim heritage. Although not equally represented, writers from both communities participated in this tradition. For instance, in the literature of the Battala publishing houses, one can observe the reflection of a shared language and popular culture. What was later widely termed dobhashi puthi or Muslimani Bangla was extensively written and read across both Hindu and Muslim Bengali societies throughout the 19th century. Popular books like Gole Bakaoli, Isph Zulaykha, Laili Majnu, and Sahanama were translated, published, and consumed by large numbers of Hindus (Gautam 2011: 225–30; Sumanta 2011: 118).

However, with the rise of a newly educated middle class during the British era and the emergence of new literary practices, this older tradition of unity was entirely disrupted. Dipesh Chakrabarty, in his essay “Memories of Displacement: The Poetry and Prejudices of Dwelling” from Habitation of Modernity (Chakrabarty 2002), has shown how, under the direct and indirect influence of Bengali and Indian nationalism, the ‘home stories’ written in modern Bengali literature completely excluded Muslim society. Chakrabarty has offered a deep analysis of what this ‘exclusion’ entails.

In a substantial essay on the history of Bengali literature, Sudipta Kaviraj wrote:

“In the age of Rammohan Roy (1774–1833), cultivation of an upper-class Bengali included a mandatory initiation into Islamic culture and a fluent grasp of Persian. By the time of Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941), roughly a century later, literary high culture had gone through a striking conversion to become a more solidly Hindu sphere.” (Kaviraj 2003: 531)

In this historical context, Nazrul played a revolutionary role. Without hesitation, he used the literary language that had solidified in Calcutta over the previous hundred years, while simultaneously introducing the language and culture of the Muslim community into mainstream literature with unabashed confidence and capability.

Ahmad Sofa summarised the significance of Nazrul’s contribution in the following way:

“One of the foremost debts owed by Bengali Muslim society to Nazrul is that he erased their ‘speechless’ identity by establishing their social language as a language of literary creation and gaining recognition for it. And the entire Bengali society owes Nazrul a debt for having identified Bengali language and literature as belonging to both Hindu and Muslim communities, laying the foundation for a newly evolving tradition and building its structure to a great extent.” (Ahmad Sofa 2002: 131)

For Nazrul, this linguistic unity was neither superficial nor ornamental. It was an inseparable part of his artistic and aesthetic self. The grandeur of Sanskrit-derived Bengali, its richness in sound and rhythm, constituted one of the principal assets of his poetic language. The most significant figure in his poetic vision is Shiva—Shiva’s image of cosmic dance (tandava) served as a key aesthetic inspiration in many of his major poems.

On the other hand, the colloquial language shaped by dobhashi puthi and Hindustani-influenced Muslim culture also formed the base of a substantial portion of his poetry. His worldview and philosophical orientation were notably influenced by Islamic theology (Ahmad Sharif 1379 BS). Islamic beliefs, rituals, and traditions were transformed into poetic imagery, richly adorned with exquisite beauty in Nazrul’s verse.

It must be said that the unity of Hindu and Muslim language and culture was an intimate element of Nazrul’s literary work. This is irrefutably demonstrated by two further examples. “In the entire history of modern Bengali poetry, Kazi Nazrul Islam is the only poet who was equally adept at drawing upon both Hindu and Muslim traditions in his verse” (Mohammad Moniruzzaman 1379 BS: 61). A poet can achieve this only when their way of life and entire sensibility—both conscious and unconscious—are formed in that particular way.

Another strong proof that these traditions were deeply embedded in Nazrul’s emotions, sentiments, and devotion is that he was not only the pioneer and principal writer of Bengali Islamic music but also one of the foremost composers of Shyama Sangeet in the Bengali language. Through such practices, Nazrul initiated what Kazi Abdul Odud described as a “new culture” within the broader Bengali society—something we might today call modern Bengali culture. In truth, Nazrul was “the first and to date the greatest creator of modern Bengali identity among Bengali poets” (Muhammad Nurul 1395 BS: 40).

There is not the slightest exaggeration in considering Kazi Nazrul Islam a symbol of secular consciousness. It must also be added that no comparable figure has ever emerged in Bengali society—either before or after him.

However, it is of little significance to view this solely as Nazrul’s personal achievement. Its true importance emerges only when understood as a historical truth of the era. In his own time, many referred to him as the ‘Man of the Era’. This title carries particular weight, indicating that the prevailing spirit and ethos of the age found its tangible and perceptible embodiment in Nazrul. But what exactly was this spirit?

From the perspective of Bengali ‘national’ life, the period marked an opportunity for communal intermingling. The Khilafat and Non-Cooperation movements provided a brief moment of convergence that greatly encouraged the Bengali Muslim middle class. It was in this context that Nazrul, both as an individual and a poet, most fully expressed this sentiment. Humayun Kabir (2002) rightly designated Nazrul as the poet of the Non-Cooperation Movement.

That this was not merely a matter of personal qualities is evident in the fact that although this aspiration was widely felt among the Bengali Muslim middle class, it was largely absent among Bengali Hindus. The Bengali Hindu community, too, demonstrated a generosity in political and cultural interaction—as Chittaranjan Das proved—but there was no literary representative among Bengali Hindus to respond to this call for unity. This yearning for union was especially intense within the relatively ‘backward’ and newly emergent Muslim middle class. Apart from Nazrul, poet Jasimuddin and the young thinkers of the Shikha group left an enduring testimony to this historical desire.

Here it becomes relevant to discuss the notion of ‘community’. The profound distinction between communalism and communitarianism in Bengali society—perhaps shaped by historical experience—is not very clear-cut. Even while Nazrul and the young members of the Shikha group worked towards Hindu-Muslim communal harmony, strong separatist sentiments prevailed among the two main religious communities in Bengali society. Bengali intellectual discourse, however, has often disproportionately highlighted only the Muslim side’s separatism. In reality, neither community displayed a strong inclination towards unity. It was hardly surprising, then, that political currents swiftly manifested these two communities as separate nations.

Nazrul’s work primarily centred on the Muslim community. The young members of the Shikha group even named their organisation the ‘Muslim Sahitya Sangha’ (Muslim Literary Society). This requires careful reading: the discourse of separating the Muslim community from the Bengali Hindu community was not a Muslim invention. The entire apparatus for this division was established in colonial Kolkata during the nineteenth century. During that century, the language, terminology, and practices of Bengali history, culture, literature, and politics had become so segregated that it was impossible for Muslim writers to offer a holistic address to the entire society. Hence, even the notably ‘secular’, ‘liberal’, and ‘humanist’ young Shikha group had to operate under a communitarian name.

The question is: did this communal identity create communal tensions in their work? History attests that it did not—neither in Nazrul’s case nor in that of the Shikha group. The same applies to another important writer two decades earlier: Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain. Rokeya’s work focused on the Muslim middle class, particularly elite zamindar families, many of whom were non-Bengali Urdu speakers. Yet, this did not diminish the universal value of her work. Indeed, in any society where the bourgeoisie and industrial revolution have not produced a fully formed civil society, communal affiliations can be rather helpful for collective social work.

Due to the bitter historical experience in our society, this simple idea has been overshadowed. Memories of Hindu-Muslim riots, the formation of a state based on religion, and its subsequent failures have led to the conflation of any communal project with communalism. Nazrul was entirely free from such inferiority complexes.

Still, in the early 1920s during the Non-Cooperation movement’s rise in nationalist fervour, Nazrul felt the need to conceal community identities. His writings from that period bear witness to this. In his essay ‘Nabajug’ (New Era) in Jugabani (1922), he wrote:

“Come, brother Hindu! Come, brother Muslim! Come, Buddhist! Come, Christian! Let us break all barriers, all narrow-mindedness, all falsehood and selfishness, and call each other brothers with full heart. Today we shall no longer quarrel.”

The use of ‘Buddhist’ and ‘Christian’ here is figurative, since those identities played no effective role at the time. He called on the Hindus and Muslims—the only communities with real significance then—to put aside their communal identities and work shoulder to shoulder for the country. Two sentences later, he explicitly invokes the nation:

“No more quarrels today; today we shall, brother with brother, sister with sister, raise our voices to the mother with no complaints or accusations.”

The need, plainly, was for the country. Nazrul’s call for harmony was a response to that pressing need.

A similar appeal is found in his essay ‘Dyer’s Memoirs’, also in Jugabani:

“Come, brother Hindu! Come, brother Muslim! Many hardships, many storms of pain have passed; our desired union is full of sorrows and sufferings, brother! When God awakened us, let us no longer sleep… May this great union be eternal.”

Every rhythm and tone in this appeal testifies to the Non-Cooperation movement’s foundation as the basis of this yearning. No thorough consideration was given to the actual state of these communities, nor was it assessed whether they genuinely wished to unite.

If ‘Hindu’ and ‘Muslim’ are regarded as two classes, then Nazrul’s call sees the internal characteristics of these classes as subsumed by a third class: nationalism. Nationalism seeks to suppress differences and create a smooth unity. But such unity is impossible. Artificial unity tends to obscure real problems, which then only grow worse.

This is precisely what happened in India’s history. The subsequent nationalist ideology did not develop Hindu-Muslim unity but rather division, ultimately determining the future of the state. A failure to critically assess communal situations and give due attention to the causes of differences was likely a key reason for the deterioration of communal relations at the time. Nazrul’s call was not free from this limitation.

Even in his creative works, Nazrul viewed Hindu-Muslim harmony not as an analytical category but as a hopeful, benevolent sentiment. I cite here a few widely quoted lines from his famous song:

“The helpless nation is drowning, knowing not salvation,
Helmsman! Today see your mother’s sacrifice.
‘Are they Hindu or Muslim?’ Who asks this question?
Helmsman! Say, it is humanity drowning, my child!”

The artistic and practical significance of this song is exceptional. Such creation is rare in any language. While the song plainly diagnoses humanity’s crisis and points to its remedy, it does so with an unpretentious simplicity. The assumption is that if Hindu and Muslim identities can be temporarily set aside, then the ‘human’ identity will grow stronger and collective liberation will no longer be hindered.

Considering the circumstances that made such expression possible, this is understandable. Yet, resolving something as complex as communalism with such naive simplicity is inadequate. This simple approach, adopted by Nazrul and his contemporaries, remains deeply embedded in our social discourse today. Hence, a re-evaluation is necessary.

The notion of communalism is by no means a simple concept. Major dictionaries around the world identify ‘communalism’ in quite different ways. Generally, dictionaries recognise three meanings of the term ‘communalism’: (a) a system of government in which a nation functions like a loose federation, and communities are governed almost autonomously; (b) a system of communal ownership; (c) a sense of overall solidarity with a community or group rather than with the broader society. In the context of the Indian experience, however, community division is almost always based on religious communities. The experience of communal riots here has been so intense that other contexts or meanings of communalism have barely come to the fore. In the Indian context, we can identify three stages or types of communalism as follows: (a) interests of people are defined on the basis of religion or community; (b) these interests differ from those of other religious or communal groups; (c) these differences breed fear, hatred, and hostility towards other communities. Bipin Chandra has established similar stages in his well-known series of works on communalism (Chandra 1984: 1).

The consequence of the third stage mentioned above is communal riots. Kazi Nazrul Islam and his contemporaries witnessed the intensity of such riots. They did not have the opportunity to understand that a riot is merely the visible tip of a floating iceberg and only a small part of a much larger reality. Their aspiration was for nationalist unity, yet in reality, riots occurred one after another. The severity of the situation and the pain of dashed hopes compelled them to think that the rioters themselves were the cause of the riots, and that the visible reality was the ultimate reality. Let us examine this issue through Nazrul’s writings.

In the essay ‘Chhutmarg’ in the collection Jugabani, Nazrul wrote:

“Should we not first remove this ‘untouchability’ among ourselves? Then you will see all your endeavours blossoming with success one day. If a Hindu touches a Muslim, he must bathe; if a Muslim touches the food of a Hindu, it becomes impure; wherever a Muslim steps in a Hindu’s house, that place must be sanctified with cow-dung (!); if a Muslim sits on a chair smoking, and a Hindu touches that chair, the smoke must be discarded — what a grievous insult to humanity! Yet on stage you stand and proclaim, ‘Brother Muslim come, brother, brother, all in one place, no difference, no difference!’ What a terrible deception!”

At first glance, the charge in this essay appears valid. The matter must be considered seriously in discussions of Hindu religious customs and practices. But when discussing communalism, especially in the context of Hindu-Muslim relations, raising the issue of untouchability is misleading. This concern arose from within the Muslim community at the time. But it must be understood that this objection was intensified by other communal conflicts and mutual distrust. Because if untouchability is indeed a part of Hindu customs, then this element must define the communal identity of Hindus and their relationship with Muslims, and it always has. More importantly, untouchability is not only applicable to Muslims but also to other religious groups, and even within various Hindu castes. Therefore, exaggerating such symptoms without examining the deeper causes of communalism is merely creating a sectarian confusion. This kind of explanation for communalism was quite popular under the pressure of nationalist aspirations at the time. Evidence of this can be found in Rabindranath Tagore’s writings.

In the famous essay ‘Hindumu-salman’ in Kalantar, Rabindranath wrote:

“There are two religious communities in the world whose hostility to all other faiths is extreme — Christianity and Islam. They are not satisfied with merely practising their religion; they endeavour to destroy the other faiths. Therefore, there is no way to reconcile with them except by adopting their religion… Hinduism is primarily birth-based and ritualistic, making its boundaries even more rigid. While Islam allows association on equal terms with Muslims, Hinduism’s path to such association is exceedingly narrow. Muslims do not reject other communities by prohibitions in daily conduct, but Hindus remain cautious even there. During the Khilafat movement, Muslims drew Hindus closer in their mosques, but Hindus could not reciprocate as much. When I first engaged in land administration, I saw that Muslims had to be given a separate place in court — a part of the carpet was folded back to provide them space. Such barriers to social mixing based on notions of impurity are unparalleled. It is a misfortune of India that two nations, Hindu and Muslim, have come together; the obstacles are not so much religious as ritualistic on the Hindu side, and not so much ritualistic but religious on the Muslim side. The gate is open on one side but closed on the other. How can they be reconciled?”

The reason for quoting at length is that this passage is often used extensively to understand communal situations in this region. The perspective it reflects remains strongly prevalent in Bangladesh when interpreting communalism. Yet, this perspective is deeply flawed. It imagines a fixed, intrinsic relation between population groups and religion. It isolates religion from historical evolution, social stratification, and other determining factors. It ignores significant influences such as modes of production, class relations, and power structures. Moreover, it assumes religion to be a homogeneous element producing uniform behaviour regardless of place, time, class, or caste. In English, this is called essentialism. By contrast, communalism or community must be understood structurally. The problem is structural, and only through structural analysis can one understand the communal problems of a particular place and time.

This approach to understanding communalism in terms of ‘Hindu’ and ‘Muslim’ categories, as demonstrated by Rabindranath and Nazrul above, is undoubtedly a problem of nationalist categorisation. Nazrul employed similar categories in other essays written in different contexts. Abdul Qadir, the first editor of Nazrul’s works, notes (Kazi Nazrul 2007: 455):

“Communal riots broke out in Kolkata on 2 April 1926 (19 Chaitra 1332 Bengali calendar). On that occasion, Nazrul wrote ‘Mandir o Masjid’ in Ganabani on 26 August 1926 (9 Bhadra 1333) and ‘Hindu-Muslim’ in Ganabani on 2 September 1926 (16 Bhadra).”

These two essays written in the wake of the riots are remarkable humanitarian appeals. Certainly, their plea would have been all the more urgent in the chaotic times of the riots. But neither essay presents any structural analysis of communalism or the riots — only essentialist conclusions. In ‘Mandir o Masjid,’ Nazrul saw the symbols of mosque and temple thus:

“I have heard the call to prayer from the mosque and the conch blowing from the temple rising together — towards the throne of the Creator. I have seen the whole sky rejoice.”

By contrast, he rejected those temples and mosques that remain mute like lifeless bricks and mortar, unresponsive to the call of people. Similarly, Nazrul saw truth in religion but also bigotry in scriptures. According to him, the rioters were religious fanatics whose leaders were ‘devils.’ His comment on the rioters was:

“They are religion-drunk. They have not received the light of truth, but have consumed the alcohol of scriptures.”

Nazrul’s explanation of communalism in these essays follows the same simplistic method. Let us recall his famous remark from the essay ‘Hindu-Muslim’:

“Hindutva and Musalmanat may coexist, but their endurance is unbearable, because the two always lead to conflict. The endurance is not Hinduism but foolishness; the endurance is not Islam but bigotry. These two ‘twas’ are but tufts of hair over which so much conflict rages today. The current fight is one between bigots and fanatics, not between Hindus and Muslims.”

The tendency to distinguish the religious from the communal and to place responsibility for riots solely on religious leaders remains very popular in Bengal to this day as a way of explaining communalism and riots. But this approach is not only ahistorical; it is deeply narrow-minded. No creative or scholarly narrative on riots has ever concluded that riots are organised solely by religious leaders or that riots are the work of particularly communal individuals. The reality is far more collective and situational. Nazrul’s analysis lacks this collective and situational perspective altogether. The fact that Nazrul identified beards and tilaks as symbols of riots, and that this essentialist perspective remains quite strong, is supported by another underlying assumption — that the comparatively ‘uneducated,’ ‘backward,’ and ‘unmodern’ segments are the communal ones and responsible for riots. This popular notion has no historical foundation. Worldwide, the history of riots over the past few centuries reveals a principal involvement of educated urban middle classes. Moreover, the link between communalism and ‘modernisation’ is well documented. Studies of Nigeria, for example, show (Melson and Wolpe 1970: 1113):

“An analysis of the Nigerian case suggests, rather, that modernization, far from destroying communalism, in time both reinforces communal conflict and creates the conditions for the formation of entirely new communal groups.”

The experience in India and especially in Bengal is no different.

In Bengal, English rule and ‘modernity’ are often conflated. It is assumed that through the spread of Western ideals and values, Indians’ values and quality of life improved. Recent historians of new schools have shown that far from westernisation or modernisation, the British in the nineteenth century rather discovered and institutionalised a traditional India dominated by peasants and Brahmins (Bose and Jalal 2002: 77). Contrary to the fluidity of rural society in the eighteenth century, colonial rule created a stable rural society conducive to British interests. As part of social stability, British administration reinforced social stratification and ensured Brahmin dominance, which, although theoretically present before colonial times, was often neglected in practice (Bose and Jalal 2002: 77). It is therefore unsurprising that religious ‘conservatism’ persisted strongly in the society and politics of colonial Bengal, and the promoters and followers of this trend were almost invariably Western-educated. Thus, one cannot simply associate communalism with ‘modernity’ or ‘education.’

It is not surprising, then, that Nazrul’s writings on community and communalism do not contain any structural explanations. What is striking, however, is the absence of historical awareness. Yet as a poet of anti-British struggle, he was a strong critic of the British ‘Divide and Rule’ policy. He used the concept in other writings, but did not explicitly connect the British rule to communalism in his analyses.

In Nazrul’s writings, as well as those of other Bengali writers of his time, communalism is discussed only in one dimension — that centred on Hindus and Muslims. However, communalism has broader forms, since community-based identities involve diverse elements beyond just religion. Class can also behave like a community, and class identity can become communal, because it is quite possible to oppress others on the basis of class identity. Nazrul’s writings, however, contain a strong recognition of this reality. Let me give an example. In his famous poem Kamal Pasha, Nazrul depicts the reaction of the genteel class to the deaths of soldiers as follows:

So, all you writers today, make a show of your grief at their deaths!
In a single line, the deaths of ten thousand! They watch with laughter!
If they die, they are dogs; they write books of martyr tales!
News appears in the daily,
And with one word express sorrow, ‘Ten thousand soldiers have died!’
(Kamal Pasha, Agni-Bina)

Clearly, Nazrul considers the foot soldiers as members of the working class. He uncovers communalism in the attitude of the genteel class towards them. The failure or refusal to give due importance to the deaths of so many soldiers is discrimination indeed. This recognition of discrimination is widespread in Nazrul’s literature.

But there is much more. Although religion is generally considered the core element of communalism in India, in reality, many other forms of communalism exist. One may say that if any two groups differ on the basis of religion, language, region, class, caste, or any combination of these elements, and if that difference influences production relations and power relations, and on that basis one group deprives another of rights or dignity, that must be called communalism. Just as India is rich in religious diversity, it is equally diverse in linguistic, regional, and ethnic identities. In every one of these strands, state, social, and cultural oppression is a daily reality. Yet thinkers of Nazrul’s era had little opportunity to attend to these diverse forms of communalism.

The communal and community situation in Bangladesh is no different from that of other parts of the world. Here too, people of diverse religions, castes, languages, and clans reside. There are conflicting interests among various communities, and these tensions often escalate into communal violence. This does not mean, however, that the people of Bangladesh are inherently more communal than others. Let us suppose that compared to the Semitic ethnic hostilities, racism, or Catholic-Protestant conflicts of European societies, Bangladesh’s communal situation is no more complex. Yet, due to historical reasons and the present demographic realities, the communal consciousness and communalism here have a distinct character. One influential reality has been shaped by the demographic composition of the Bengali population, divided between Hindus and Muslims.

The Bengal region is almost unique in this regard, as the Bengali-speaking population is roughly divided into two nearly equal religious groups. Perhaps, apart from Lebanon, no other example like this exists worldwide. The 1872 census first clearly revealed that the ‘backward’ Muslim population constituted more than half of the total Bengali population. This fact emerged as a major influence in Muslim-Hindu relations, especially vis-à-vis the ‘advanced’ Hindu community. Later, when electoral politics began, naturally, interests related to production and power increasingly became linked to community identity. The subsequent riots, disturbances, separatist politics, and the 1947 Partition of Bengal must be understood from this perspective. The present situation of Bangladesh is no longer what it once was. The communal scenario here today has no direct connection with earlier statistics. Yet, this old history continues to play a powerful role in the current reality in at least two ways. First, there is a marked lack of clarity regarding the distinction between community and communalism here. The history of large-scale riots and the experience of a Pakistan state founded on community lines are perhaps the main reasons for this. Yet, in this very poor country, various community-based schemes could play a significant role in public welfare. Such programmes and activities do indeed exist, but they receive no recognition in intellectual discourse — and this absence has not been helpful. Second, under the weight of old experiences and terminology, Hindu-Muslim communalism has so far monopolised our attention. Yet Bangladesh is also a fertile ground for ethnic or linguistic communalism.

There are tensions in the relations among different ethnic groups in Bangladesh. However, the primary communal crisis here is the relationship between the Bengali Muslim majority and the others. Compared to social crises, state-sponsored communal conflict is much more intense here. The main factors governing communal tensions with the large Hindu minority are electoral politics and property ownership. Other forms of socio-cultural oppression also exist, as noted earlier from a historical perspective. But in Bangladesh, there has been prolonged state-directed oppression of communities — ethnic and linguistic groups are the primary victims. From another angle, the Bangladeshi state plays a particularly oppressive role in failing to integrate the lower-class working masses into its schemes. The problem is that none of these social or state-driven forms of communalism have been effectively addressed by Bangladesh’s intellectual society. Propaganda has occurred, but no critical, analytical context has been developed. This remains a more severe crisis in our understanding of community and communalism.

There is a difference between studying communal conflict and studying communalism — these two are not the same. Bangladesh is particularly deficient in the latter. Although in Indian Bengal there is a prevalence of folklore and myth in the study of communalism, a substantial body of critical scholarship has nonetheless been produced. More broadly, India’s progress in this field is remarkable. There exists an enormous volume of meaningful institutional research on communal issues. To such an extent that Indian academia holds a special position globally in the study of communal problems. Intellectual activity concerning communal questions in India is robust, and institutional civil society engagement is also significant. As a result, while communal conflicts may not have been fully resolved in India, the number of intermediaries between endangered communities and the state has increased, as has the amount of clear, analytical interpretation of communal conflict. These developments will surely play a positive role in the long-term resolution of these issues.

In Bangladesh, no genuine tradition of studying communalism has developed. The approach currently dominant here is that which draws on Nazrul and Rabindranath, as outlined above. This tradition is moralistic, prescriptive, and full of essentialist or absolutist conclusions about the communities involved. In contrast, what is needed is a sociological, psychological, and historical body of scholarship. Nazrul will certainly remain an inexhaustible source of inspiration as a symbol of secular consciousness. His activism on communal issues might serve as a model for us. But the sooner the limitations of Nazrul’s and his era’s approach to studying communalism are recognised, the better. Given our current place and time, structural analysis based on thorough empirical data and continuous critical evaluation is the path that can lead us to eradicate communal conflict from within.